Chapter 67. The Bitch They Created

Ava

I woke up sore in all the right places, sunlight slicing through the blinds and painting stripes across the tangled sheets.

Today was for Lang. I’m dressing specially for him.

I showered slowly, letting the hot water sting every bruise and bite mark like a reminder of how alive I was.

I shaved until my skin was silk, rubbed jasmine oil into every inch until I glowed. Then I dressed like I was walking into war.

The skirt was black, pleated, scandalously short, barely brushing the lace tops of my thigh high stockings.

The white button down was sheer enough to tease, tied tight beneath my breasts so the fabric strained and gaped with every breath. No bra. No panties. Just a thin black velvet choker that looked innocent from a distance and filthy up close.

Hair wild and loose, lips painted blood-red, eyes lined sharp enough to draw blood.

I cooked spicy garlic chili noodles in the quiet kitchen, ate them straight from the pan wi